


You Got Nothin' to Give Nobody

by jacanas



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2224512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacanas/pseuds/jacanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I could give you a good life, he said. I work hard, I could take care of both of you.</p><p>You got nothin' to give nobody, she said, and left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Got Nothin' to Give Nobody

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt: 
> 
> So in most of the fanfiction I read Will's dad is an alcoholic, abusive and/or a total douchebag. So what I would really like to see is Will and his dad getting along maybe he could be teaching Will how to fish or how to fix a boat motor or something like that. I just want Will having a happy childhood.

_I could give you a good life, he said. I work hard, I could take care of both of you._  
  
 _You got nothin' to give nobody, she said, and left_.  
  
Graham knew his son was different from other children. The differences were obvious from the moment his mother left, when his son, no older than two, began mimicking his father's emotional state with startling accuracy. No matter how Graham hid his feelings, covered them with gifts from the Family Dollar or pretended not to be affected, his son picked up on his morose moods immediately and would cling to his distressed father in need of comfort.   
  
Graham learned quickly that no efforts to hide his feelings would work, and resigned himself to a life of transparency.   
  
When William was two, Graham began taking him to a kindly neighbor who watched three other children in the relative safety of her doublewide. She smiled down at the small child, who peered up at her with wide, curious eyes. She offered a hand for a polite handshake, and William glanced up at his father for approval before taking three of her fingers in his and shaking.   
  
"Hello, William," she said with a friendly smile. "I'm Miss Duncay."   
  
William stared up at her; his wrinkled right thumb popped into his mouth, and he blinked.   
  
"He doesn't speak yet?" she asked with concern.   
  
"He talks when he wants to talk," Graham said. "It don't harm nothin'."   
  
"Doesn't, anything," Miss Duncay gently corrected. "We speak only proper grammar in this house, Mr. Graham."   
  
It could have been a scold, save for the friendly smile and laughing eyes she fixed him with. Miss Duncay had a degree in education, which was why Graham chose her. She had taken four linguistics classes so that, when she chose, she could speak with what she called "Midwest swagger."

Graham had liked her immediately.   
  
He handed his son over with a gruff nod and stepped back. William turned, holding Miss Duncay's hand, and watched him as he backed away. There was no need to fuss. Graham had told the boy he would come back to pick him up at the end of the work day, and William somehow knew he was telling the truth.   
  
"Bye, Da," the boy said, and after peering up at Miss Duncay for several more seconds, added, "Da say be nice."   
  
"It is always good to be nice, William," she said with that same friendly smile. William smiled back, unconsciously reflecting her good humor.   
  
Graham waved and left. William stayed with Miss Duncay until he turned four, when Graham found a better job at another boatyard and uprooted them both. The farewell was sweet and lingering, with William grasping a handful of Miss Duncay's skirts while she bustled around her small kitchen, pouring them homemade lemonade. Both drank the offered juice, and William peered up at her until she sat. She took the boy under his raised arms and sat him in her lap, a familiar position. William leaned against the table and looked at his father until Graham's fidgeting was obvious even to the other adult.   
  
She kissed William's cheek and set him down on the ground.   
  
"Goodbye, Miss Duncay," he said in his small, precise voice. She had taught him manners and pronunciation, along with a few letters and numbers.   
  
"Mr. Graham, may I speak with you for a moment?"   
  
William went outside to leave the two of them alone without being asked, and she settled her elbows on the table.   
  
"William is very smart," she said. "Don't let it go to waste."   
  
"I won't," he said, and Miss Duncay smiled.   
  
"Now I'd like to speak to your boy, if that's alright."   
  
He called William back inside, shook Miss Duncay's hand, and stepped outside. He fought the impulse to stand close to the door and catch the conversation; eavesdropping was a bad habit, and he didn't intend to teach it to William by example.   
  
A few minutes later the door opened and William stepped outside. He held out a hand for his father, who took it and waved to Miss Duncay. They walked toward the old, beat up red truck, and William gripped the edge of his shirt, bunching the fabric unconsciously. Miss Duncay had taught him that habit, to replace sucking his thumb.   
  
At six years old the boy had seen three more moves as Graham struggled to find work that stuck. He enrolled his son in kindergarten three days after the deadline, and made a personal visit to the principal of the school to beg for an exception. He brought his son's workbooks, all at a first grade level, and apologized for the delay. She made William's acceptance conditional on an evaluation test. Graham brought his son the next day, and met the principal herself in the kindergarten room. She was sitting in one of the small children's chairs, and she smiled when she saw William holding his father's hand.   
  
"Hello, William," she said, and began the test. The boy stumbled only once, when she asked him, "Can you point to where the sun is?"  
  
William looked from his father to the principal in confusion. Graham clenched his jaw and fought the urge to help him; the principal repeated herself, still smiling, though now a little forced. William finally pointed outside at the overcast, rainy day and said, "but it's raining outside."   
  
She laughed and then stopped herself, clearing her throat.   
  
"Very good, William," she said with shining eyes. "Thank you, that will be all."   
  
William started kindergarten without any administrative issues.   
  
They continued to move, although Graham made an effort to stay in each location for at least a few months before forcing his son to abandon yet another home. William appeared unaffected until he began first grade, when children became less forgiving and more perceptive. The second day of school, William went to his room and closed the door, and did not come out again until the following morning.   
  
When the same routine continued for two more days, Graham visited the teacher to speak with her. She told him that she would watch more closely, and asked if he had William tested for developmental issues.   
  
He pulled William out from that school the following week, and moved them to another town.   
  
He taught William to fish once they were settled, showing him how the children's reel clicked and when to press the button to toss the line. They fished together out on the docks of the boatyard and caught brim, which Graham always tossed back into the water.   
  
As time passed, William began speaking more to his father and less to the outside world. Graham represented safety and trust, and William clearly associated his father with acceptance. He came to his father with questions which he was too nervous to ask in class, and Graham supplied what he could. When the boy started second grade, the questions became more detailed and specific, and Graham realized that he would not be able to answer all of them. He stayed honest, admitting to his son when he did not know the answer, and each time the disappointment in William's eyes made him ache. He decided on a plan for the next question he heard and couldn't answer.   
  
The next day after school, William came to him and asked, "How do clouds come?"   
  
"Form," Graham corrected absently. "How do clouds form."  
  
"Yes, that," William said, impatient in his curiosity.   
  
"I don't know," Graham said, and when the boy began to slump in disappointment, he continued. "I'll make you a deal. How about you find out and tell me?"   
  
William seemed confused. He hadn't had the opportunity to explain something to an adult before, especially not his own father.   
  
"How can I find it?" he asked, taking a shine to the idea. Graham smiled.   
  
"They have a library, don't they? Ask the librarian to show you books on clouds, and find it."   
  
William found it, and took notes in his blocky, scrawling handwriting. He told his father about humidity, accumulation (he asked for help pronouncing the word) of water, and density of the air. He talked about wind currents and air streams, and Graham asked him a question about weather patterns.   
  
William was shining when he finished explaining clouds to his father, and Graham decided that this was a habit well-formed.   
  
Every question after received the same response:  _find out and tell me._  Eventually, William stopped asking and simply found the information on his own. He sometimes shared his knowledge, and he sometimes kept it to himself, but Graham made sure to keep him supplied with cheap notebooks for the copious notes he took while doing his personal research. His son became a fountain of never-ending tidbits of information, and would spout them randomly during their fishing trips. Graham always nodded to show he was listening, and sometimes asked for more information if the topic interested him.   
  
When his son started middle school, he was socially withdrawn but intellectually intelligent. Graham made sure his library card was always up to date, and brought back dime store novels for William to read late into the night. He taught William about boat engines, pulling one apart entirely to let his son see the intricate cogs, screws and valves which comprised the full machine.   
  
"Take out one piece and the whole don't work," he said.   
  
"Doesn't," William corrected, and Graham smiled and ruffled his hair with greasy fingers, making his son yelp.   
  
William's aptitude exploded along with puberty, and the boy struggled with the constant barrage of emotions he couldn't control or identify as his own. Continued years in school did nothing to socialize William, and Graham made an effort to make sure that his son always had a safe home to land in, even if the location changed. William would enter the house and his shoulders would fall, releasing tension built up throughout the day, before going back to his room. He would come out later in the evening now, after Graham insisted on sharing dinner with him one too many times, only to return again for the rest of the night. The weekends were their haven of normalcy, and the trade-off was a week full of somber teenaged moods and barely-contained emotions.   
  
Graham left his son in peace, and so William never learned to avoid him when he needed comfort.   
  
When he turned eighteen, he sat his father down at the kitchen table and told him he wanted to join law enforcement. He thought his mind worked differently from other people, and that it could help save lives if he put it to good use. He told his father about several cases he'd read about in the news, and how he could nearly see the criminals involved. He explained Asperger's, and empathy, and when he was done, Graham only nodded and said, "Do what's best for you, son."   
  
At twenty-one he entered the academy, and at twenty-three he was assigned to homicide.   


* * *

  
  
"We caught him, Dad," William said on the other end of the line, and it was the first time his boy sounded inspired. "I saved some lives today."   
  
They spoke of the details of the case released to the public, and William laughed at his father's feeble attempts to pry for more.   
  
"I'm proud of you, son," he said, and he could hear William's awkward shuffling through the phone.   
  
"Thanks, Dad," his boy said, and they said their goodbyes.   
  
"I had one thing," he murmured to no one, and smiled.


End file.
